


Reasons Why Water Bills Suck: Exhibit A

by faraandmera



Category: Original Work, Other's Original Work
Genre: Elvish Americana - Freeform, Fanfiction, Genderfluid Character, broke ass teens, others OCs, supernatural character, the San Antonio Water Bill is too damn high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-12 02:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faraandmera/pseuds/faraandmera
Summary: Budgeting the apartment, food, and other things on only the mediocre amount of income Sabine makes, is difficult. Water bills do not, by any means, help. Nor does Salvador- to no fault of his own, really- so Sabine has to do what she can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters and world they exist in belong to AO3 user Shewhowalksalone and are inspired by Badaquatic's Elvish Americana series.

 Logical choices aren’t always the most wanted ones. Water bills are expensive, this is especially true when one hardly has the money to pay for anything, at all. Budgeting the apartment, food, and other things on only the mediocre amount of income Sabine makes, is difficult. Water bills do not, by any means, help. Nor does Salvador- to no fault of his own, really- so Sabine has to do what she can.

Which is how they end up sharing showers on a unfortunately regular basis. Not often enough that it’s ever completely comfortable, though they are far past being worried about it. It’s just something they have to do, unless they want to skip showers. Which they could, technically. Nothing is stopping them from doing that- except for the Texas heat and the unfavorable results of it.

So, sharing showers. That is a thing. Sabine and Salvador have managed to find a good level of routine in this. Facing back to back, one stands under the water while they other faces away from it, with soap or shampoo, and then they switch. Pass things between them when asked, and share very little other conversation.

Sabine can’t say she’s exactly the worlds number one fan of sharing showers, but that’s how things are. For what it is, it’s not terrible. Though she could do with significantly less talking from Salvador on this particular day. Outside of their occasional, “pass the shampoo,” they’ve maintained very little talking while showering. Which is good. Sabine is a pretty big fan of the ‘ _not talking to another person while showering because you can’t afford to pay the water bills if you take separate showers,_ ’ thing.

“But are we sure that jar of peanut butter isn’t expired? It tasted fucking weird.” Salvador’s voice echos against the bathroom tiles, and Sabine audibly sighs. “I think it was expired. You shouldn’t buy shit without labels.”

“ _ _Please__  shut the hell up.” Sabine gives another sigh, for good measure, and runs her hands through her hair. Her hair- the already dark colour now completely indistinguishable from black due to moisture- slips through her fingers easily, short and slippery. It’s been a few weeks since she last cut it, she notes, and makes a mental reminder to cut it again tomorrow as to not give it a chance to get any longer. “There was nothing wrong with the peanut butter.”

“I’m just saying that-” Salvador stops, as if rethinking whatever he was going to say. Sabine raises an eyebrow, though she knows he can’t see it, surprised. When does he ever refrain from saying things? “Switch places with me.”

Sabine gives her hair one last run-through with her hands, hoping she’s rid it of any shampoo, and turns around. Salvador takes her place under the water, while she takes his facing away from it.

“It was gross.” Salvador finishes his statement, finally, and Sabine feels a strange sort of relief. She’s used to him saying whatever he feels like- sometimes to the extent of being an asshole- so if he stopped himself from saying something, she’d almost be worried. Almost. _Maybe_. A little. She decides all of those words apply.

“Your constant fights with food are getting out of hand.” Sabine brings her hands up to her face, suddenly aware she forgot to grab soap before they switched places. “Shit, hey, hand me the soap.”

Salvador picks up the bottle- Sabine knows this without turning around by the sound of the nearly empty bottle echoing through the bathroom. It’s really more along the lines of ‘ _bottle that used to have soap in it, and now has vaguely soapy water in it,_ ’ but it serves its purpose. Their budget was lacking enough. Soap doesn’t fit in there for at __least__ another week, or more. So the nearly-empty bottle will have to do, for now.

“Have I ever told you how much you changed my life?” The question catches Sabine more than a little off-guard. She makes a vaguely unhappy noise at the subject change- he still hadn’t handed her the soap- and shakes her head. She can tell he’s smiling, even though she doesn’t have any view of his face. She just __knows__.

“Don’t make it gay, Salvador.” At her words, Salvador makes a sound which is related to- if not exactly- a laugh. Sabine holds her hand out, to her right, and behind her. “Hurry up and pass me that soap, will you? The water bill is high enough- we’re showering together for crying out loud- don’t make us waste more of it!”

“Hey, you were the one who said it was between this and working in Wall-Mart.” Salvador drops the bottle of soap into her hand, which she barely manages not to drop. She elbows him with her other arm, which he jumps at but otherwise doesn’t seem perturbed about. “I’m already dead, Sabine.”

“Oh, stop fucking complaining, already.” She doing her best, here, and she wont be complained to about their situation by the dead guy. Rather, she’d like to _say_ she wouldn’t be, but that’s a large part of their friendship. Complaining to each other, and being complained to, are a part of the _joys_ of friendship, after all. Theirs, at the very least. So maybe she __will__  be complained to about this by the dead guy, go figure.

“What I mean-” Salvador pauses for a moment, wiping shampoo out of his eyes- “was, well, look at this.”

“Looking wasn’t part of this arrangement.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Salvador’s words don’t hold the annoyed bite Sabine expects, which can only mean one thing. He has another comment ready. “The ‘this’ I was talking about, was our situation. Showering together because the water bill is just too damn expensive? Life changing shit right there. You can never go back from that.”

Sabine elbows him again, this time getting a small, startled yelp in response. She’s fairly certain she didn’t hit him hard enough for it to actually hurt any, so he’s definitely playing it up. Salvador is getting too used to this, Sabine decides, she needs to step up her game.

“Whatever, asshole, are you done there? I need the water.”

“Can you ask nicely?”

“Can you stop being a dumbass?”

"Damn, you got me there.”

“Move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did the characters at least some amount of justice, because they're really, really interesting to me.  
> Additionally, what you see here is the (edited and revised) second draft. The first one ended in a way that was sort of disconnected, so I had to cut parts out of it and re-write the entire thing to be more coherent.  
> Bonus here's a cut scene:
> 
> Since her hair is already wet, and she isn’t in a rush to anywhere else, Sabine goes in search of scissors in their apartment. Which, as it turns out, are surprisingly hard to find. Salvador watches her walk past the couch at least four times, before revealing that he knows where they are.
> 
> “Well why didn’t you say so, dumbass?”
> 
> “Watching you walk around looking for them was funny, dumbass.” Sabine hits him over the head for that, and he laughs in response.
> 
> “Where are they?” Sabine doesn’t get a vocal response, but instead watches Salvador lift his hand- and the scissors- into view. 
> 
> “I had them the whole time.”
> 
> “You’re dead to me.”
> 
> “I’m already dead.”
> 
> “Just hand them over, asshole.”
> 
> Salvador does hand the scissors over, and Sabine waste no time making her way back into the bathroom, so she can get to cutting her hair. She goes to reach for a towel- to cover her shoulders and keep the cut strands from making a home in or around her shirt- when she realizes Salvador followed her. Somehow, this isn’t a surprising as she wishes it was.
> 
> “What are you doing?”
> 
> “The last time you cut your hair, you took a piece of your hand with it.” Salvador motions towards her hands, which have long since healed from the accidental cut. While the evidence of the wound is gone, the memory is not, and she frowns at the realization that he has a point. A point about what, she isn’t exactly sure, but one none the less.
> 
> “So?”
> 
> “I’ll cut it for you, duh.”
> 
> “Nope. Not happening.”
> 
> “Or just, watch and warn you you’re about to take a one-way trip down to wounded hand town.”
> 
> Sabine is glad to know that she didn’t, in fact, need his help at all. She doesn’t even come close to cutting her hand, while she trims her hair. Something which she is still happy about twenty minutes later. Something which she isn’t happy enough about, to stop her annoyance at Salvador returning the conversation to a topic from earlier in the day.
> 
> “But seriously, Sabine, that fucking peanut butter.”
> 
> “Is fine. It’s edible and it’s not like it’s growing mold or something.”
> 
> “Are you sure it’s not?”
> 
> “Is it growing mold?”
> 
> “I don’t know, I’m too scared to look.”
> 
> “Wow.”


	2. Observing Sabine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salvador has felt, on more than one occasion, that her death will ultimately come from eating something that she really shouldn’t. She trusts food far too much.

Whoever assumed the dead get to rest, must have never had been dead themselves. Salvador stares up at the ceiling, mind bogged with thoughts of things that are, generally, unimportant. He briefly wonders if, maybe, something is off. There has to be a reason a good night of rest decided to suddenly evade him, right? Rather than getting an answer to his internal question, he hears the tiny footsteps of a familiar raccoon.

Sabine wonders into his room, already shifted into her raccoon form. Despite her form, Salvador can recognize the signs of her tiredness, as she jumps up next to- and then onto- him, curling up to sleep. It’s not an unusual position, but he still can’t help the slightly startled noise that escapes him when she does this. Her weight- though small, in this form- is a significant presence on his chest. In her sleep, she makes a noise reminiscent of a cat purring, which lulls him out of his idle thoughts.

Somehow, he finds himself able to rest. Partially because he thinks if he moves, he’ll wake her and she’ll make him regret that. Partially just because her presence is strangely calming, like this.

By the time Salvador gets up, the next day, Sabine has already left the room. He finds her eating, while reading a book that appears to be about squid and octopus reproduction? Briefly he remembers her mentioning being commissioned to write something that, in personal opinion, didn’t make any fucking sense. He thinks Barney was involved, and that it was anatomically impossible, even just in theory. It was weird. Still, Sabine had defended it with a, “it pays the bills,” and now, apparently, was doing more research. Sabine, runs her hands over the pages, likely more to just feel the paper under her hands, than to follow any of the words.

He approaches her, briefly ‘brushing’ against her mind. It doesn’t do much, other than send a shiver down her spine, which has her turning to glare at him as she dunks a piece of bred into her soup. That affect, however, is all he needs or was hoping to get out of it. It’s just enough to remind him that he can still get a reaction out of people.

“Researching for your weird fetish writing?”

“Yep.” Sabine shrugs, tearing another piece of bread off.

“Don’t you feel __any__  shame? How does it feel, knowing that when you get that money, it will be because you wrote a- what was it- Barney slash Lovecraftian squid-” Salvador glances at the book again- “reproduction fetish story?”

“I’m not ashamed of all the cash this shit will get me. It feels fucking awesome, and I have no regrets.” Sabine holds his gaze, while Salvador makes a face that’s exaggeratedly disgusted.

“People are gross.”

“No shit, welcome to reality.”

As Salvador takes a seat beside her, Sabine yawns, stretching her arms out above her head. It reminds Salvador a bit of a cat. Which is a strange thought, he thinks, because she’s a raccoon. Then again, he thinks back to the night before, and has a realization. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“I just realized something incredible.” Salvador grins, leaning forward towards her. “You’re a trash cat.”

He pokes her little black nose, which wrinkles at the sensation. She shifts, opening her mouth to bite at his finger, which he barely pulls back in time. “I’m not a fucking cat.”

“No, think about it. Raccoon’s are basically dumpster cats, who also have masks. I’m pretty sure you purr in you sleep too.”

“I __don’t__ purr.” Sabine kicks out at his legs, and he jumps back- and to his feet- to avoid her.

“I don’t know.” Salvador’s voice takes on a sing-song tone, teasing. “It sounded like you were purring last night.”

Sabine moves, as if she’s going to stand, and Salvador immediately takes a step back, and another, keeping distance from her likely soon-to-be-flying fist. “Can you try not to be a twelve year old?”

“Harsh. You wound me.”

“I’m sure trying to.” Sabine sits back down fully, shoving the last of bread into her mouth. Food before revenge, apparently.

 

Salvador is well aware of a lot of Sabine’s habits. They’d been living together a while now- and he’d learned a lot before then, even- so he was bound to recognize certain things people wouldn’t know at a glance. The most obvious, would have to be the fact that she would eat most everything. Salvador has felt, on more than one occasion, that her death will ultimately come from eating something that she really shouldn’t. She trusts food far too much.

So when she come home with a logo-less plastic bag, he audibly groans. “What weird food did you buy this time?”

“It’s __not__ weird.” Sabine’s defense is automatic, something she barely has to think about, and she marches her way over to the kitchen counter, where she sets the bags down. “Besides, only half of it is food.”

“Who are you?”

“Oh, __ha__.” Sarcasm laces her tone, and she turns to face him. “We needed other things, okay? Don’t look so surprised.”

“Like what?” Salvador makes his way over, hesitantly taking a look inside the bags. There’s a few jars and bags of things that’s labels are more than slightly suspicious. Other than that, Sabine bought soap and detergent. He glares at the food, while Sabine speaks again.

“Our clothes needed some care, before they take a one-way ticket to __literal disaster town.”__

“What the fuck kind of analogy was that?” Salvador isn’t actually sure if analogy is the right word, but figures it’s as good as any. She’ll know what he means, anyway.

“Listen, asshole, I’m too tired for clever analogies.”

Salvador is well aware of a lot of Sabine’s habits and actions. Things she does in her day-to-day, and how she lives her life, normally. Knowing doesn’t mean he understands. How she can eat nearly everything, despite how legitimately frightening a state it’s in, he doesn’t understand. She once gave him a response that boiled down to, “food is food,” but that doesn’t mean he gets it any better.

He also doesn’t understand the motivation behind putting herself through the pain he’d seen her put herself through, just to bind her chest.

If it’s because of the flee-market detergent, or something else, Sabine struggles with her binder, and Salvador can only stand there, genuinely unable to comprehend what the point of it is. It’s not as if anyone is here- aside from him- and as long as she knows who she is, what’s the point of messing with her outward appearance? Just as Sabine’s current form didn’t make her any less of a raccoon, this doesn’t change anything either, he thinks.

“I don’t see why you put yourself through the pain,” Salvador finally speaks, glancing over her chest, then back to her eyes. His thoughts are far too legitimate, far too concerned, to voice, so he tries to keep his tone light, even when he knows his expression must come across as concerned, if not annoyed. He didn’t like that Sabine was hurting herself for something that seemed so pointless. “They’re barely there anyway.”

He’d held the same concern, the same annoyance, back when Sabine would shower alone, and bind with ace bandages- which even he, though not exactly an expert on binding, knew was dangerous- despite the pain it caused her. Despite the fact she would end up unable to breathe.

Sabine crosses her arms, covering her chest. She’s far from uncomfortable with Salvador- they’ve shared showers far too often for that- but she seems uncomfortable, still. Salvador can only guess it’s discomfort from something else, because she keeps her eyes locked on his, and glares at him for only a moment. In a second she glances away, seemingly unable to hold his gaze, which in and of itself is more concerning.

“It’s not about passing, or fitting in,” She says, shaking her head. __It’s not about if it’s noticeable.__  “It’s about feeling comfortable, and okay, in my own skin. Which I don’t, without this.”

Sabine vaguely motions at her binder, and Salvador finds himself quiet. If circumstances where different- if enchanting things didn’t drain him- he’d offer to enchant it to always fit her correctly. But he’s a ghost, his magic is weaker, and much more difficult to use- dangerous even- than it used to be. So instead he pauses, frowning. “Wont you be even more uncomfortable practically killing yourself? Dying isn’t fun, Sabine.”

“No.” Sabine’s statement is simple, and Salvador finds himself feeling annoyed again.

“You’re going to __hurt__ yourself, stupid. Can’t you just, I don’t know, put something on that’s too small for you now? Until you figure out if that thing even fucking fits you anymore.”

Sabine seems to consider this, shifting on her feet, before sighing. “I think I have something.”

“See. Put that on under your normal guy-clothes, then.” It’s not a permanent solution by any means, and Salvador can see that Sabine isn’t satisfied with it, but she moves over to where her clothes are kept, rifling through them. Salvador glances again at her binder, and considers how much power it would actually take to- and how much time he’d need to recover after- enchant it to always fit comfortably. He concludes it’s ‘too much’ which isn’t a satisfying conclusion to come to, but there’s not anything that he can do about it. Salvador turns his attention back to Sabine, who pulling a shirt over her head, now, and then notices something out of the corner of his eye.”

“This still doesn’t work.” Sabine frowns down at herself.

“Temporary solution. But, hey, Sabine?”

“Yeah?”

“What has thirteen legs, six eyes, and lives in an apartment?” Salvador meets her gaze, and she narrows her eyes at him, likely questioning the subject change, or maybe even his sanity. Either way, she snorts after a moment, shaking her head.

“Are we reading milk cartons now? I don’t know, what is it?” Her amusement is nice to see, considering the conversation they just came away from, but Salvador has to break it with reality.

“I don’t know, but I just saw it scuttle into your closet.” Salvador speaks simply, flatly, even, and gives a shrug. Sabine momentarily continues to be amused, before she meets Salvador’s eyes again, and realizes he isn’t kidding.

“What?”

“I think I’m going to have to… avoid your room for a while.” Salvador backs up, slowly.

“You’re fucking with me right?”

“No.”

While Salvador backs away, Sabine picks up a lamp and spins to face the closet.

From outside the room, he hears a crash, and then Sabine yelling something along the lines of, “don’t run from me you motherfucker,” muffled by the door.

They both decidedly avoid Sabine’s room for the time being. Having lost track of the creature- now deemed ‘Fredrick Fuckface’ by them both- there’s not much they can do until they can find and dispose of it.

Otherwise, things are fairly normal- as much as they can be, for the two, at least. Sabine discovers that with a little pulling on the fabric- not enough to tear or really stretch it, but enough to reverse the extreme stiffness cause by the last wash- her binder fits again. It hadn’t shrunk, much to her relief, but rather was just too stiff to wrap around her properly. Salvador is glad, as well, if just because he knows she would have eventually gone to doing anything she could to feel comfortable again, even if it would case her pain.

“Salvador!”

“Yo?”

“Freddy just ran out of my room.” The statement is simple, and Salvador finds himself nodding despite her being in another room, and unable to see him. It takes a second to realize that ‘out of her room’ means into the living room. Where he is.

He turns, locks eyes with the creature, and jumps to his feet. “Found him!”

 

They still don’t catch it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that everything provided to me about these characters- the other commissions especially, and even the last chapter of this- focused a lot on Sabine. (In the biased third-person sense) So i wanted to make this chapter a third person biased to Salvador, though it's still got a lot of Sabine-centricness to it. (It's also a way to balance out their roles in the chapter)  
> I also tried to tie some of the prompts I was given- the ones i used anyway- together a bit.  
> Anyway I love them both and I hope this chapter was okay.


End file.
